sion--his attention during the
period of waiting being directed by his parent to the study of the
campaigns of Joshua, and the methods employed by that singular but
successful strategist in dealing with the Philistine.

Angus had a long while to wait, for all the youth of England--and
Scotland too--was on fire, and others nearer the fountain of honour
had to be served first. But his turn came at last; and we now behold
him, as typical a product of "K to the _nth_" as Bobby Little had been
of "K(1)," standing at last upon the soil of France, and inquiring
in a soft Highland voice for the Headquarters of our own particular
Battalion.

He had half expected, half hoped, to alight from the train amidst a
shower of shells, as he knew the Old Regiment had done many months
before, just after the War broke out. But all he saw upon his arrival
was an untidy goods yard, littered with military stores, and peopled
by British privates in the _deshabille_ affected by the British Army
when engaged in menial tasks.

Being quite ignorant of the whereabouts of his regiment--when last
heard of they had been in trenches near Ypres--and failing to
recollect the existence of that autocratic but indispensable _genius
loci_, the R.T.O., Angus took uneasy stock of his surroundings and
wondered what to do next.

Suddenly a friendly voice at his elbow remarked--

"There's a queer lot o' bodies hereaboot, sirr."

Angus turned, to find that he was being addressed by a short, stout
private of the draft, in a kilt much too big for him.

"Indeed, that is so," he replied politely. "What is your name?"

"Peter Bogle, sirr. I am frae oot of Kirkintilloch." Evidently
gratified by the success of his conversational opening, the little man
continued--

"I would like fine for tae get a contrack oot here after the War.
This country is in a terrible state o' disrepair." Then he added
confidentially--

"I'm a hoose-painter tae a trade."

"I should not like to be that myself," replied Angus, whose early
training as a minister's son was always causing him to forget the
social gulf which is fixed between officers and the rank-and-file.
"Climbing ladders makes me dizzy."

"Och, it's naething! A body gets used tae it," Mr. Bogle assured him.

Angus was about to proceed further with the discussion, when the cold
and disapproving voice of the Draft-Sergeant announced in his ear--

"An officer wishes to speak to you, sir."

Second-Lieutenant M'Lachlan